


funerals and other ways to make people sad

by writing_way_too_much



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, No pairings - Freeform, Post-Reichenbach, it's just the fall, the major character death isn't really a death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_way_too_much/pseuds/writing_way_too_much
Summary: "There aren't enough people at the funeral, in John's opinion. There should be hundreds. Thousands. Everyone should be here. Sherlock helped so many people and saved so many lives.Instead, there's six, including the priest."Sherlock's funeral, after the fall.





	funerals and other ways to make people sad

**Author's Note:**

> this is very sad. i made myself sad writing this.

There aren't enough people at the funeral, in John's opinion. There should be hundreds. Thousands. Everyone should be here. Sherlock helped so many people and saved so many lives.

Instead, there's six, including the priest.

Mrs. Hudson is sniffling into her handkerchief, dressed in the black she's been wearing since that terrible day. Lestrade is restless, fiddling with his watch, glancing around, unable to sit still. Donovan and Anderson are both there for some strange reason. Guilt, probably. John wants to be mad at them, wants to scream at them and see their heads sink lower and lower with shame--their doubt did, in a way, cause this--but he's too empty.

As for John, he's cried so much that his eyes hurt and his throat is sore. He is shocked and hurt and grieving.

The priest says some things and invites John up to eulogize.

John's throat is tight, and it'll be a miracle if he even gets four words out without dissolving into tears. Lestrade shoots him a comforting glance, and he takes a deep breath.

"Sherlock Holmes was a genius. Kind of an asshole, and he had a bad habit of shooting the wall when he got bored, and he started endless fights, but he was brilliant, and could even be kind if the mood struck him."

John stops talking. Breathes. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Mrs. Hudson's eyes are shining, most likely with tears.

"He annoyed the hell out of most who knew him. But he solved crimes and saved lives and helped so many people and there should be way more people here today..."

John's voice cracks and he closes his eyes, forcing the last sentence out, past the sadness.

"He was my best friend, and he will be greatly mourned and missed."

John sits down, feeling heavy, and Mrs. Hudson wraps an arm around his shoulders. "That was lovely, dear."

John nods soundlessly.

\---

They all visit the grave.

John goes there more than his therapist says is healthy.

Mrs. Hudson brings fresh flowers every week and puts them in a little vase.

Donovan comes about once every month and stands there, silent, until she whispers an apology, the same words every time. "I'm sorry for calling you a freak. I'm sorry for doubting you. You were brilliant."

Anderson visits randomly, not keeping track. He brings things that he's collected and chatters about new theories that his group has come up with.

Lestrade visits on the days John doesn't. He brings nicotine patches and occasionally talks about difficult cases. "God, I wish you were here, Sherlock. You'd solve these in half a bloody second."

Sherlock watches them when he's in London, in between the steps of dismantling Moriarty's network.

He memorizes Sally's apology and mouths it with her, watching her lips.

He considers the offerings that Anderson sets on the ground, surprised that he would actually use most of them.

He loves the flowers that Mrs. Hudson freshens up. He wants to hug her, comfort her, but he can't. It's not safe.

He doesn't use the nicotine patches that Lestrade brings, even when he desperately wants to. He listens as Lestrade speaks, trying to solve the cases but getting too distracted by the way Lestrade's voice breaks.

And John...

John comes at least three times a week, even when his therapist gently urges him to move on, or to at least cut down on the visits. Most days he just stands there, fighting tears, wanting to say a thousand things at once but unable to speak.

And it hurts Sherlock, to see how devastated John is, to see the damage he's left in his wake, and to be unable to fix any of it.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave kudos or a comment if you enjoyed or are quietly suppressing tears or are unashamedly bawling your eyes out <3
> 
> my tumblr is @bestfluteninja, and this fic is also posted there


End file.
